Tangshi V. 1. (113)

A light wind is rippling at the grassy shore....
Through the night, to my motionless tall mast,
The stars lean down from open space,
And the moon comes running up the river.
...If only my art might bring me fame
And free my sick old age from office! –
Flitting, flitting, what am I like
But a sand-snipe in the wide, wide world!